Redwood Rock was an excellent place to camp. There were, of course, Lots in the forest were people could park there rv's or tents and there were also showers and toilets at the very beginning of park where people would drive in. Sprinkled around the campsites were water pumps where we could pump out water and the good old port-a-potties (which I refused to use).
I was 18 years old and the month was May. I still had two more weeks to go before my graduation. My Dad decided to call in sick for me this Thursday and Friday so that he and I could have a four day camping trip together. I hadn't seen my mother since I was little and I had an older sister, Jackie, who was grown and out on her own who I hardly saw anymore. I guess I felt like an abandoned little girl.
It was about noon when Daddy and I pulled into our lot at Redwood and we started to set up the tent. It was beautiful there, there were trees all around us, shading us from the hot sun and we were far enough away from our neighbors where we could have privacy, but still close enough for them to, say, hear our screams if we were being murdered.
The whole day was wonderful. After Daddy and I pitched the tent, we shuffled down a nearby hill to the river and started to fish. I could talk to him about anything. I talked to him about Matt, a guy who had recently broken up with me. I wasn't as heartbroken as I used to be, and with time, I was getting over it. I talked about my grades, friends at school, teachers, and he also shared with me stories of when he was young.
Our conversation had hit a dull, quiet patch when suddenly something jerked my line. I stood up, excited.
"Okay, okay...Now reel it in slowly," my father said.
I did as my father instructed and slowly enough I pulled out of the water a giant catfish, wiggling and thriving. I squealed in delight. There were a few other people fishing along the river and they looked over when they heard my squeals. The man nearest to us looked over and smiled. I smiled back.
As requested, my father took the fish off of the hook for me and threw him back. He also added a fresh worm to the hook and I was back in business. I kept my head forward, but my eyes shifted to my left where there was that man that had smiled at us. I studied him. He wore, what looked to be, denim tan pants and a plaid button-up shirt. His fishing things were all around him and he sat at the edge in a foldout chair, waiting for a fish to bite. His hair was mostly grey and his body was long and slim. I studied his face closer and could see his wrinkles. I sensed an air of sadness about him.
In the evening, my Dad and I started up a fire and roasted hot dogs and smores over the flames, eating the fleshiness of the hot dogs and the gooeyness of the smores. We had a big jug that could hold, oh, I would say maybe six or seven gallons of water. My father had forgotten to fill it up and he asked me to fill it up at the nearest pump.
"Where is it?" I asked him, straightening out my denims shorts as I stood up.
He pointed. "You just turned left and walk down that way till you get to Lot 104. It's right near there."
I nodded and grabbed the jug, starting to walk the short distance. It didn't take very long to get there, maybe five or six minutes. It was starting to get dark out, but it was still light enough to where I could see what I was doing. Unfortunately, I still didn't know what I was doing, as I was pumping the handle, but no water was coming out.
"Do you need some held with that, Miss?" I heard a voice behind me. I turned around and I immediately recognized him as the older man who had smiled at us while we were fishing. His face and body were highlighted by the glow of a nearby RV. I looked into his eyes. They were a bashful, beautiful brown color.
I smiled, "Yes, please. I can't seem to get this thing going."
"I know, it's rough," he said. "I'm in Lot 104, so I'm in charge of this thing," he chuckled. I decided I liked his laugh and giggled along with him.
I held the mouth of the jug under the faucet and he started to pump the water out. After a couple of minutes it was full and I closed it with the cap.
"Thanks," I said. "I guess all it took was a little extra mus- I mean, strength."
He was chewing on a piece of gum and he smiled at me, his arms crossed over his chest. "Say," he said, "you look a little young to be out on your own, especially in the dark amongst strangers."
"Well, I came here with my Dad," I stated.
He nodded and smiled shyly, "Well, may I walk you back to your lot? That is, if it's not too far. These old limbs aren't what they used to be."
I smiled, "Yes, thanks, I'd like that."
We walked out onto the main road in the camping site and started to talk a little bit. I learned his name was Robert and that he was traveling alone in his RV. He struck me as a very lonely man. His eyes were big and very expressive with his hair combed back. He looked maybe 60ish, but he was still very good-looking for his age.
We arrived at my lot. "That's my Dad over there," I pointed to him. "We were just going to hang out and talk a little bit, nothing special. Would you like to join us, Robert?" I hesitated than added. "We have plenty more ingredients for smores, if you're interested."
He smiled and nodded shyly and we walked over to my father who had been eyeing us suspiciously. I guess it did look rather odd, his daughter bringing a strange, older man back to the tent.
"Dad," I said, "this is Robert, he's staying a few lots down from us. Robert, this is my Dad, Nathan."
They shook hands and exchanged nice-to-meet-you's. My Dad let Robert take his foldout chair and he took the bench on the picnic table that every lot had. The three of us had a very nice conversation. We talked about what brought us to the campsite and so forth. I learned that Robert was 62 and had been a widower for about five years.
Robert looked beautiful, with the reflection of the flames of fire jumping on his face. He sat across from me and Dad sat off to the side. He was sitting, leaning back in his chair, his ankle crossed over his opposite knee and his chin in his hand listening and talking.
"I'm sorry to hear about your wife," I said to him.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
There was an awkward pause and my father jumped in. "Well, I'm just glad I have my little squirt here," he chuckled.
That was my Dad's nickname for me, "little squirt". The men chuckled.